Halo: The Few and the Proud
by Tyridac
Summary: A young man injured in the Battle of Jericho VII awakens to find much has changed. Armed with advanced technology and a whole platoon of marines, he begins his road towards revenge.
1. Prologue

Andrew's teeth instinctively clenched as his Human Entry Vehicle shuddered through the transition between space and atmosphere. He could feel heat welling up at the base of the pod causing his feet to sweat. Andrew whispered a curse and popped his knuckles.

Andrew tried to push his fear to the back of his mind. It was a futile effort; this op was risky. First, they were dropping onto Jericho VII at night. Being shot out of a UNSC Frigate at 300 kilometers per hour in a thin titanium-A shell was suicidal enough; couple that with the fact that, on a night with clear open skies, they would light up and be visible for miles. 125 bright burning comets just begging to be picked off.

"Thirty seconds out." Lieutenant Morrison's voice crackled through the comm-bud in the side of Andrew's helmet. "Final check, marines."

Andrew moved, both from practice and experience. With a quick glance left he made sure his weapon, the BR-55 was locked in tight. Glancing right he made sure his comm-unit and grenades were secure. Andrew reached out with his left hand and touched a disc-shaped depression on the side of his impact-chair. There was a flutter of green static as the software suite inside his helmet interfaced with that of the HEV. A scrolling set of numbers appeared across his vision.

_Seventy-two percent, _Andrew thought, _excellent._ As long as the numbers stayed above sixty-three percent Andrew had a good chance of surviving the impact at the end of his HEV's journey.

The pod lurched again as the newly deployed aero-foils slowed the 300 meter-per-second plummet to just below 100 kph. Andrews gut knotted and he swallowed back bile. He hated that part.

Andrew counted the seconds down and waited for the proximity warning from his pod when another shudder shook vehicle. The ambient light in the pod shifted from neutral to red almost immediately. Something was wrong; and in a Titanium-A and Lead coffin moving as fast as a sports-car, that was a bad thing.

Andrew could feel, in his gut, the pod was picking up speed. It suddenly became clear, the aero-foils had disengaged prematurely. Had the been shot off? Surely he would have felt the impact of a plasma weapon. The chances of a shot just hitting his aero's was astronomical at best. A thousand questions resounded through Andrew's skull but only one thing was clear: he was in free-fall.

Andrew knew he had to get the air out of his lungs before he hit. He was in mid-breath when he touched down. Stars exploded across his vision and he tasted blood. His pod groaned to a halt, sparks issuing and metal rending, belly up.

Corporal Andrew Delving was still fighting off the last lingering bit of shock as the front of his pod exploded off, revealing the calm, faintly green sky of Jericho VII. One of the four silver moons floated languidly across the sky. Without thinking, Andrew sat up and stuck his black helmeted head over the side of the HEV.

There was less than a fraction of a second left as Andrew slammed his head back down. Blue-phosphorescent plasma splashed against the side of his pod and singed the edges of his jet-black armor.

Andrew cursed, what the hell was he thinking? The final strains of confusion evaporated and Andrew was in the zone. He knew he had to get out of the pod, the right side was already beginning to heat up as plasma thudded into the side. He pulled his battle rifle from it's housing and slapped home a clip of AP-ammunition. There was no time to look for the rest of the ammo that was housed below his seat, he had to move, one clip would have to do.

Corporal Delving leapt over the left side of his HEV and, in midair, snatched up both the comm-unit and the bandolier of grenades. The air sizzled around him and his shoulders blistered from the heat. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Andrew landed in a crouch. He wasted no time securing the comm to his back and tying the bandolier to his waist. Stilling his frayed nerves, Andrew plucked one of the grenades from his waist and primed it. He tossed it overhead and counted three pounding beats of his heart.

As the dull thump from the detonation reverberated through Andrew's feet, he took off on an all out sprint. The grenade worked as a smoke-screen and Andrew made the 75-yard sprint unscathed. Holding his BR-50 close, Andrew vaulted over the makeshift barrier that had been erected out of three HEV's.

Andrew landed solidly and shouldered his rifle. Although every Marine looked similar in their Jet-Black Entry Armor, Andrew easily recognized his best friend. Christophe gave him a casual wave.

"Good to see ya, mate! I thought you were DOI."

Dead on impact, Andrew shuddered. "How many?" He asked as he rested his back against the pods.

"No, bloody idea," Christophe replied. "Something's screwy with the communications system, only burst transmissions since we landed. Bravo was hit hard, no contact."

That made some sense at least, Bravo was the first group to drop out of the _Euphrates_. Andrew chanced a glance over the barrier. His helmet painted close to 70 different targets at extreme range, advancing warily. The dog-like Grunts with a few of the avian Jackals close behind. Somewhere out there, amidst the cannon-fodder, were the walking terrors. The hideous Elites. Andrew shuddered once more.

"What about the rest of Alpha?" Andrew nervously shifted on his heels.

"Just you, me , Andrea," Christophe nudged the woman at his feet. She sighed explosively and went back to cleaning her SRS99C-S2 AM. "And whoever was in this pod." Christophe rapped his knuckles against the pod on the far right side of the barricade. "Poor bastard never made it out."

Andrew looked at the two others from his Alpha squad; his gut knotting the whole time. "That's it?" He asked in a voice barely above a whisper; had it not been for the amplification software in his helmet, his voice would have been lost in the din of the battlefield. "Four down already."

Christophe's normally jovial tone darkened. "We're in it deep."

"Head's up." Andrea motioned once then went back to cleaning.

The broad-shouldered Lieutenant Morrison skidded to a halt up against the right pod. The large duffel he carried dropped at Andrew and Christophe's feet; its contents rattled. Inside his helmet, Andrew smiled.

"A peace offering," Morrison bent and unzipped the duffel revealing clips of ammunition, bandoliers of grenades, pistols, and a whole plethora of close-quarter weapons. "You think they'll take it?" The broad shouldered man asked.

"We'll see right to it, El-Tee." Christophe retrieved two long, slender clips for his M7/Caseless. As he stood, he tossed an extra clip of 9.5mm rounds to Andrew.

"Corporal Delving," The El-Tee turned to face Andrew. "Is your comm-unit working?"

Andrew shrugged, "no idea, Sir. I didn't really have time to do a systems check." Andrew unclipped the unit and crouched. "I'll go ahead and set it up."

No sooner had Andrew began to bring the unit online than his ear-bud crackled to life. There was a burst of static so loud that only one word rang through: "Banshees!" All four heads snapped up and scanned quickly around. On the horizon, in perfect flanking position, the deadly covenant fliers screamed towards them.

"Sergeant, where are Alpha Teams rockets?" Morrison dug through the bag until he found a clip of AP-ammo. The relatively small rounds wouldn't do much to the one man fliers, but they would get it's attention.

"Uh…" Christophe stuttered. "Corporal Henrik had the Jackhammer unit. No contact since our insertion."

Andrew scanned around their immediate position. When pods were launched into battle their trajectories were tweaked to ensure that they would land according to fire-teams. Sure enough, about forty yards away, Andrew spied a set of two pods. Thin rivulets of smoke curled from their craters. It was a long shot.

"Sarge." Andrew jerked his thumb towards the downed pods.

Christophe nodded in agreement. "Get it done, Corporal." Andrew and Christophe traded weapons, BR-55 for M7/Caseless Sub-machine Gun, Andrew slapped the side to make sure the clip was in tight. "I'll be back in a jiffy!"

As he turned to go, Morrison's worried voice stopped him. "Wait, Corporal. What if that isn't Henrik's pod?"

"Then I'm glad I'll be over there." Andrew turned and ran for the pods. Behind him he heard the crack of Andrew's sniper-rifle and the rapid fire pops of Christophe and Morrison's battle-rifles.

Andrew slowed his gait as he neared the pods. There, picking through the remains, was a Jackal. It turned its bird-like heard towards Andrew just in time to see him level the SMG.

Corporal Delving gave the monster three quick bursts from the full-auto weapon. The rounds tore into its midsection and spilled its precious life-blood. The Jackal twitched towards its holstered weapon an instant before its body registered the impact, it then crumpled at Andrew's feet.

After scanning around the pods for additional contacts, Andrew exhaled; he hadn't realized he had been holding his breath.

Turning towards the pods, Andrew surveyed the damage. Fellow Corporal Henrik looked as if he had stepped in front of a moving Warthog. The front of his armor was cracked and bright red blood leaked from between the plates. The soldier had tried to get out of the HEV but only managed to slump over the side. Andrew reached past the body and retrieved the Jackhammer Missile Launcher. He checked the cartridge, it read: "Surface-To-Air." Perfect.

Andrew dropped the SMG and shouldered the bulky weapon. He quickly found the fliers that were rapidly bearing down on the rest of fire team Alpha. The targeting software inside his helmet automatically interfaced with the weapon and drew a rough targeting solution. Andrew adjusted accordingly and drew a calm breath.

Andrew's vision clouded from propellant as he pulled the firing pin. There was a whoosh as the rocket tore from the barrel of the launcher. It sped through the air and rendezvoused with the nose of the Banshee. Both flier and missile erupted in a cloud of back smoke. The concussion spun the other Banshee out of control and both ruined craft tumbled to the ground.

Andrew hooted through the comm and Christophe stuck his head over the barricade. "Good shot!" The comm responded.

Corporal Delving pumped his fist in the air in victory. Two "uglies" down, thousands to go. On the third pump, there was a blinding flash followed by a thunderclap. A thin wisp of light smoke drifted in front of Andrew's vision.

Christophe's head disappeared.

Andrew looked down to discover a burning hole in his chest.

There was no blood.

Andrew sank to his knees. There was no pain.

Darkness crowded the edges of his vision and Andrew wondered why there was no blood.

Andrew fell onto his side and reached out for the fallen launcher.

As he pulled it close he whispered to himself one last time. "I'm not gonna die."

* * *

Admiral Joseph Carl Delving switched off the viewer. Sighing, he sat back in the uncomfortable office chair. He raised the crystal glass to his lips only to find that it's aromatic contents had been drained. The same held for the bottle of Alt Burgundy resting on his stainless steel desk. No matter, Joe didn't need anymore to drink tonight.

This had been the third time he had watched it. Watched as his son lost his life. Well, almost.

Andrew had lived, if you could call it that. Encased in a Neural Buoyancy Gel-Tank, in a coma for the past ten years, could hardly be considered living.

The salt and pepper-haired Admiral rose and turned towards the view-port. Earth was beautiful tonight but it gave him no comfort. He would find no solace on the beautiful blue planet. No, he was here to do a job.

_After all,_ he thought, _who else is going to save my son?_


	2. Chapter 1

It was a rainy April afternoon when Admiral Delving stepped off his personal transportation Pelican. Joe stood and breathed in deeply; it felt good to be away from recycled air for a change. He could see nothing of the Chicago skyline through this clouded haze; but, then again, he really didn't need to.

He knew that somewhere, off to the east of this building, was the Office of Naval Intelligence. A looming 200 stories of black glass and metal. No one saw in, but it seemed as if that building saw everything. You were hard-pressed to find a place in Chicago proper that you couldn't see the ONI building.

The Admiral shuddered in the chill of the rooftop. If they knew why he was on Earth, more specifically, if the NavSpecWep division knew why he was on Earth, he would disappear.

Joe smoothed over his dress-uniform and quickly crossed the concrete landing platform. A waiting Navy Liaison Officer saluted crisply as Joe approached the waiting elevator. Joseph returned the salute and stepped inside.

"What floor, Sir?" The officer spoke in a voice that was pure military, devoid of feeling.

"Eighty-two." Joe ran a hand through the wet hair. "What's the local time, son?" The Admiral pulled a data-pad from his uniform jacked and thumbed it to life.

"Fifteen-forty-one hours, Central Standard Time." Delving was impressed as the young-man spoke; he had made no discernable move to check any type of chronometer that Delving could see.

"Good, I'm on time." Joe remarked.

"Yes, Sir." The man offered. Joe liked him. He made a quick mental note to see if the kid wanted a transfer to a more exciting post.

The elevator slowed to a stop and the doors hissed open revealing a lavish white-carpeted hallway. It was almost harsh on the eyes the way this hall was bright. The Liaison saluted as Joe left the elevator to silently make his way down the hall.

A number of high-ranking Naval Officials made their groundside home in this gigantic condominium tower. So many, in fact, that the Navy housed a permanent staff here to attend to their personnel if need be. Joe shook his head; no doubt the ONI had the entire building riddled with the most advanced listening devices. They never missed a chance to spy, especially on someone so close.

The Admiral crossed the hall to his condo and pressed his thumb against a square touch-pad. The locking mechanism scanned his thumbprint and the lock snapped open. Joe quickly slipped into his home and shut the door behind him. If the entrance hallway was lavishly bright, Joe's Earth-side home was the polar opposite. It was a myriad of darkness: black sim-leather couches and chairs, mahogany appointments, thick burgundy carpet, dark-stained wood paneling. The whole apartment swallowed light, like the void of space where Joe often found himself.

As Joe started to cross the room, a sharp knock at the door stopped him dead in his tracks. Panic instantly exploded in his brain and a thousand questions needed answers. Joe's hands started to shake ever so slightly as he turned towards the massive oaken door.

Joe warily crossed to the door, the whole while trying vainly to calm his fears. His hand hovered about the knob for a couple of seconds as he debated whether to open it or let whoever was on the other side go wanting. Steeling his reserve, Joe twisted the knob and opened the door.

Another Liaison Officer stood on the other side in an immaculately pressed uniform. His face also betrayed no secretes as it wore an equally immaculate smile. Joe narrowed his eyes and formed an immaculate dislike of him.

"Yes?" Joe tried to look as annoyed as was possible when scared out of reason.

"Admiral, Sir." The Officer offered up a haphazard salute. "We're pleased to receive you, this evening. Is there anything I could do for you? Dinner? A holo-vid perhaps?" The man looked the Admiral over as he talked, slowly, as if assessing him.

Joe sighed explosively. "Petty Officer, if I had any need of you I would have sought your services the instant I landed. Since I did not, it stands to reason that I do not wish to be disturbed. If there is another knock on this door I will see to it you, your commanding officer, and whoever thought it would be a good idea to staff you here, are sent to the furthest posting I can find." Joe didn't wait for the man to respond, the heavy oak door slammed closed.

The Admiral sagged to the floor as silently as he could. He was so terrified by the intrusion that his stomach roiled and the Admiral covered his mouth with his hand. After about a minute, Joe breathed in a deep breath. He rose and keyed in a combination on the mechanism panel. There was an audible click as the three deadbolts slid into place. As Joe turned, he whispered a curse: "Damn spook."

It had begun subtly enough, a wary attitude, double checking all of his communications for listening protocols. A cautious step here and there; watching his back when he was groundside. Soon however, it had blossomed into full-blown paranoia. Now, there were spooks in every shadow, spies at every turn. He was convinced that the ONI haunted his every step. Everyone he had come to depend on had been transferred, or worse. Joe swallowed hard as he remembered his former assistant. Now the only person he trusted was his first officer, Commander Kimball. Well, not the only, but the other was hardly a person.

The Admiral crossed the condo on silent feet until he reached a large, dark stained oak desk. Joe sat his data-pad on the bare top of the desk, instantly the interface changed to a number pad. The Admiral tapped in the combination and a series of soft clicks issued from the drawers.

This whole condo was a technological miracle. Wireless interfaces on basically every electronic device, all synced to his data-pad; multiple high-speed optic channels, each one triple fire walled and secured by a multi-variable encryption system. He even had a passive sensor suite to monitor local airspace; this apartment rivaled a deep-space listening post.

Joe opened the top drawer and retrieved a small glass and a large bottle of amber liquor. The bottle's label was so faded its writing was now a faint ghost of what it once was. Nothing but a lasting memory, doomed to obscurity.

Shutting this drawer, he opened the next one down and pulled out a thirty-centimeter long cone, setting it gingerly on the desk he pressed a small button on the side. After a few moments, the top blossomed open and spiraled into a dish. Joe smiled to himself.

He poured a glass of the liquor, bourbon, and began to sip. The biting liquor felt good as it went down his throat, warming his chest and reminding him he wasn't crazy. Joe was half done with the liquor when a soft tone issued from the cone object. Joe's smile grew wider and he stood and stretched. It was time to go to work.

Joe reached down and tapped a few buttons on his data-pad and an armoire hissed open across the room; revealing the largest super-processor this side of a starship. In fact, he had appropriated it from a cruiser that had suffered massive damage. As Joe looked at the super-processor he offered up a thankful prayer to the crew of the Lancer.

A row of emitters flickered to life along the side of the apparatus and a ghostly image fluttered into the room. The hologram stood as tall as a man with a belled hat upon his painted head. In his hand was a mummer's scepter capped with the same tri-balled hat. The Jester smiled languidly at Admiral Delving and waved his hand at him, scrolling lines of code fluttered in the wake the scepter left.

"I have been busy while you were away." The Jester spoke.

Admiral Delving had become accustomed to the AI's mocking voice. "Excellent, the names, please."

"They're already on your data-pad." As the Admiral looked bewildered for a small moment, the Jester's bells tinkled softly like staccato laughter.

"Show off." Joe grumbled as he picked up the pad and settled into the overstuffed burgundy sofa. He quickly scanned through the names and frowned. "Most of these doctors were off planet. What good was that?"

The AI shrugged and balanced on his toe for a moment. "Most, Admiral, but not all. By my calculations we will need only two doctors and a handful of Med-Techs. We have the doctors, as you can see from number forty-seven and eight. The Med-Techs will be easy to obtain."

It made Joe cringe the way the Jester referred to flesh and blood humans like they were objects to be obtained and discarded. They were his fellows, humans, Joe had to remember that. That is what set him apart from the ONI; or so he hoped.

"These men and women, the people on this list." Joe drew in a breath. "They worked on the Spartan II program?"

That was it, all of the secrecy, the years and years of planning, the theft of a Military Grade "Smart AI", all of it was a prelude to this moment. The culmination of all of Joseph Delving's hard work hinged on the answer the AI would give. It was hard to devote your life to something so secret. No one had shared Joe's pain, he wouldn't let them. He couldn't risk others lives for the sake of his secrets. But he had, Joe suddenly realized, he had risked lives; even lost some. But that didn't matter.

The bells on the end of the Jester's hat were jingling furiously. His smile stretched wider into a hideous grin. "No, Admiral," Joe could barely hear over the din of the bells, "these people worked on the Spartan III project."

* * *

Joe leaned back in the crowded coffee shop, his coffee with a shot of amaretto was rapidly cooling but he didn't care. The drink was the least of his concerns. He was late, the doctor. Joe had busted his ass and wallet to get to Songnem, South Korea, traveling as a civilian the entire way. He couldn't risk being found out. He couldn't afford one slip-up.

The Jester had performed better than the Admiral could have expected. In little under an hour the AI had created an alias for him and, using Joe's issued ID Card, altered all the necessary data to make sure he wasn't questioned as he traveled. It was more than he could have asked for, more than he even expected.

The Jester had been reluctant at first. Of course, being ripped out of a housing during an engineered power glitch would be trouble enough for an intelligence that was housed completely by electrons. The Jester was, naturally, very angry. But, as Joe had banked on, very intrigued on how the Admiral had accomplished this feat. So Joe had explained what he wanted, how he proposed to go about it, and why the Jester would be a great boon to said plan; like clockwork, the AI agreed and thus began their partnership.

After last night's display of data transmission, a technological miracle to say the least, Joe had been feeling uneasy. If the Jester could leap a string of electrons across ports in the house and finally end up on Joe's data-pad, he could just as easily have alerted his creators to his whereabouts in any of the past 13 months the Admiral had been on active duty.

Joe wondered who was controlling whom at this point.

The door to the coffee shop opened and drew Joe from his musings. A frail man with gold-rimmed glasses sauntered in. His grey hair was combed flat against his scalp and he wore an austere expression. Joe gave a nod to the doctor's searching glance and the man sidled up to the table.

"Isn't this rather public?" The doctor looked around nervously. "I would have expected the UNSC Navy to contact me directly. Not all of this cloak and dagger nonsense. It's ridiculous."

Joe held up a hand to silence the man's annoyed grumblings. Just in time too, a waitress approached the table and asked for an order.

"Coffee, black." The Doctor pushed his glasses up further on his nose. "What is it you want, Admiral?"

_How much had the Jester told this man? _Joe wondered to himself.

The waitress quickly returned with the coffee and left the two gentlemen to their discussion. The Admiral smiled politely at the aging doctor, hoping desperately that the Jester was right about him.

Joe reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his data-pad. He thumbed it to life and scrolled through to Andrew's medical profile. He flagged the genetic markers and slid it over to the Doctor. "You can call me Joe." He remarked as he took a sip from the tepid drink.

"Doctor Choi will do." The Doctor picked up the pad and looked at the page. His eyebrows raised ever so slightly. "What is this?"

"My son." Joe said dryly, suddenly he didn't want any more to drink.

"You should be proud, he has an excellent medical history." Doctor Choi began to set the pad down when Joe reached across the small table and stopped him.

"Look at the next page please."

Choi pressed the page-turn button and, once again, his eyebrows raised; this time they were more pronounced. "Oh my," He sighed, "how horrid."

"Indeed."

Choi continued. "His lower body has been pulverized, his arms too, the chest cavity has a burn. Bigger than I have ever seen."

Each symptom Choi listed stabbed at Joe's heart. He gripped the edge of the table and willed himself to stay strong.

"Joe, it's a miracle your son is even living."

"But he isn't living, Doctor." Joe fought hard to keep his voice down. They had been telling him that for the past ten years. Some miracle. "He will never live again without your help. Don't you understand?"

Joe snatched the pad back and went to the previous page, this time he isolated the genetic markers and made sure they were visible. He handed the pad back and drained the rest of his cup.

Doctor Choi spent a long moment looking at the pad. Slowly he set it down. "I don't see what this has to do with me."

"Of course you do." Joe was in no mood. "Project: Chrysanthemum. NavSpecWep Section Three's pet project. All the markers are right there; better than those kids."

Choi's heart froze. That was the code-word. No one outside of the project was supposed to know about it. No one. Punishable by death, he remembered the solemn words spoken to him. He tried to push back from the table and leave, flee from this place and save his life, but Joe's strong hand came across and held him in place.

"Continue, page three, Doctor."

Choi looked down and flipped to page three. He recognized all of the drugs, their purpose, their applications, but how could any of this relate to the Admiral's crippled son. When Choi read past the list and came to the drugs that weren't used on the kids, on the threes, realization dawned.

"It's impossible." Choi shook his head vehemently. "It cannot be done. Your son is too old and there is no way to know if the augmentations will take effect."

"That's why I added the immune-boosters and the knitting agents." Joe's grip on the man tightened, he had to force this point home or else all hope was lost. "Ten years in a Neural Buoyancy Gel-Tank have done nothing for him. His bones haven't healed fully and his mind is trapped; kept alive by solution 87556-UD61." Joe released the man. "You have to help him."

Choi didn't look up from the pad. It was possible, by such a long shot he couldn't even begin to calculate the odds. There were a thousand things that could go wrong, if those happened, any one of those, Andrew wouldn't want to wake up. To do so would be more horrid than any hell he could imagine.

There was the possibility that if it did work, he would make history. Choi would be the first person to successfully augment someone that age and have the augmentations stick. Andrew needed to learn how to use his body again anyhow, after so long in the tank there was bound to be some neural degradation.

"If I refuse?" Choi looked up into Joe's welling eyes.

"Please don't." Joe averted his gaze. "Please."

Choi gazed at the data-pad once more. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was making a mistake.

"I will need a state of the art facility, and a military grade AI to help with the procedure."

Joe could hardly believe what he heard. "You'll have it all, anything you need."

"And because you are taking me from my duties here in Songnem-"

"You will be generously compensated of course." What Joe didn't add was: "As long as my stolen AI has managed to reallocate the necessary funds."

Choi looked at the data-pad once more. "When do we begin?"

Joe's heart soared.


	3. Chapter 2

-11800 HOURS, JANURARY 11, 2545 (MILITARY CALENDAR) \ MIDLAND MONTANA, SECURE CHEMICAL STORAGE/RESEARCH FACILITY, EARTH

"There is very little security at this chemical facility. It will be easy to identify what subroutines I'll need to bypass and what ones I'll need to keep intact." The earpiece in Joe's head buzzed as the Jester explained what he was doing. "I'm cracking into the facilities network now. Keep the guard busy, I'll be back momentarily."

Joe didn't respond, he couldn't have even if he had wanted to. As soon as he had pulled up to the front gates, in an unregistered vehicle no less, the Military Policemen were scrambling out to meet him.

As he stepped out of the simple cold-fusion car Joe found himself directly in the lead guard's sights. Joe put on his poker face.

"Is there a reason you're pointing that thing at me, soldier?" Joe asked with as much venom his terrified body could muster. He was suddenly glad he wore his full dress uniform.

This excursion was by far the riskiest thing he could do. The long drive out to this base, nestled in the Montana countryside, he had tried desperately to come up with a better way. There was none. The Jester had been reassuring, almost irritated at the Admiral's reluctance. This base was, after all, the only place on Earth Joe could get what he needed. Now, as Joe stood with a gun pointed directly at his face, he wished he could say just one thing: I told you so.

The MP checked the pistol, lowering it but not holstering the weapon; and not taking his finger out of the trigger guard.

"Admiral, I wasn't aware that any Navy personnel were due for a visit." The MP was now joined by three of his comrades that came striding from the bunker.

"You'll understand, Admiral, that we must see some identification." The lead MP made a small gesture with his free hand and one of the flanking guards approached.

"Of course." Joe reached into his pocket, slowly, and withdrew his Mil-ID card. He laid it in the waiting hand of the MP. "If you would please, I'm running late."

No one responded to the quip, instead, the guard with the ID ambled off to the bunker. No doubt to recheck the visitation roster. If the Jester hadn't come through and the guard radioed in to the Facility C.C., Joe was cooked. There would be no way for him to explain what he was doing there. Red flags would go up and in seconds, queries would begin popping up at a certain building in Chicago. They would trace the Admiral, crack into his databases and find him out. In less than two hours the Office of Naval Intelligence would dispatch a "Cleanup Crew" to deal with him. Fast, efficient, thorough, Joe wondered if he would even be asked any questions.

But he was getting ahead of himself.

The seconds ticked by and Joe tried to seem relaxed, even a little bemused. He felt foolish and hoped his nervousness didn't show. Joe had just started to consider an escape plan when the MP emerged from the bunker; he wore a bewildered expression.

The lead guard finally removed his finger from the trigger and holstered the side-arm. "Report."

The guard with Joe's ID took a moment to respond. "The notification just came down from C & C, he's to be cleared ASAP." The MP handed Joe back his card. "Sorry about the hold-up, Admiral."

As if a gun went off, the guards snapped into action and opened the gate. Without a word, Joe got back into the car and accelerated through. The guards snapped off crisp salutes as he passed but Joe didn't look twice.

The fusion vehicle continued down the dusty path and Joe allowed his mind to wander. This section of Montana was utterly deserted. Devoid of all life save for the gangly shrubs and small lizards that inhabited them. There was a joke that Andrew once told him about the personnel that manned this storage facility. This place was where officers went to die.

Thinking of Andrew brought Joe back to the task at hand. He steered his vehicle up to the grey concrete entrance for the underground facility. There were no guards posted here, Joe was thankful for that.

He parked the car and exited, a warm breeze blew across his body. This was an idyllic spot. Too bad he couldn't enjoy it.

"Are you going to power-down the vehicle, Admiral?" The Jester chimed in.

"No, I'm not going to be long and I am going to want to get the hell out of here." Joe adjusted his uniform for the hundredth time. Steeling his resolve, he marched forward to the door.

As he approached, his heart leapt into his throat. Entrance to the base was controlled by a palm scanner. Panic started to rise in his throat and he chanced an out loud question to the Jester.

"Have you imprinted my entrance data on the base network?" His voice was barely above a whisper.

"Yes, what do you think I've been doing this whole time. Now keep quiet, lest someone become suspicious."

Joe sighed as he reached out his hand. He laid his palm flat on the green panel and a pinpoint light played over his fingers. The light flickered for a moment, then winked out. Joe's stomach did the impossible and knotted even further.

The huge silver doors to the facility remained inert, but a small side door hissed open. Joe exhaled and stepped into the facility. The interior seemed more dim compared to the bright Montana countryside.

The burnished grate-floor led Joe down a long hall way to another inset door. No palm scanner was present at this one. Instead, as Joe approached, a thin laser flickered across his eyes.

Another small door slid open and led Joe into a bustling corridor. Technicians and laborers briskly strode through the halls. Their uniforms were starched and pressed. Even those that bore the insignia of UNSC Equipment Handlers had immaculate uniforms. Whoever was running this base must have been a stickler for regulation.

All the more reason for Joe to get the lead out.

"Follow the hall to the right. After the curve, it's the third door on the left." The Jester whispered.

Joe walked with his head down. His eyes never dared to meet those that walked through the halls. Even though this facility was loud, Joe could hear each footfall. Like he was an elephant, lumbering through a quiet-room.

The Admiral side-stepped for a utility vehicle, the driver gave a crisp salute as he passed but otherwise didn't notice him. The walk seemed to take forever but soon, Joe approached the designated door.

"Act like you're swiping your Mil-Id through the scanner. I'll handle the rest."

Joe wasted no time, he fished into his pocket and retrieved the card. He raised his hand and positioned it to slide through the magnetic-strip reader.

He was just about to lower the card when a dreadful buzz nearly burst his eardrum. It was all he could do not to cringe noticeably.

"Don't really run it you fool. Do you realize how intolerably long it would take me to delete that magnetic signature from the system? Do as I say from here on out, Admiral." The Jester snapped, adding as much venom to the word Admiral as was linguistically possible.

Joe wanted to fire off a comeback, dress the snooty AI down here in front of God and everybody. Tell the program that it was by Joe's good graces that it was allowed to live even this long. Joe's rage bubbled up inside of him, he fought back the urge. The sooner he got this done, the sooner he would be rid of the AI.

Joe cupped his and around the reader and slid the card along the wall just next to it. As he did so the little light on the door blinked green. Joe pulled open the heavy door. There was a hiss and inside air suctioned into the blue-lit room.

As Admiral Delving stepped inside, he felt the skin on the back of his neck prickle from the decontamination field. There was another buzzing noise, this time from outside the Admiral's head.

The Jester's voice crackled through the tiny ear-bud. "You're passing through the field, out of comm-range. Get the solutions and get out. Security already shows unauthorized entry. I'll hold them as long as I can. Hurr-" The bud went silent.

Joe had never been religious before he knew his wife. When she had married him he began to accept her views on the cosmos. The higher powers, the faith in unseen things. It was hard for Joe to believe in it while she was alive. He accepted her feelings but never trusted his own. When Liza died, Joe had sought answers. It had to have been divine providence that led Joe here. Through the void, back to Earth, past the all-seeing ONI.

Joe prayed as the blue-haze washed over him. Prayed that God grant him but a few more hours to complete his task. Just a few.

Joe couldn't see the seams in the walls until they parted, revealing a long room. Lining the walls were row after row of display case. One of them had what Joe needed. Correction, what Andrew needed.

The Admiral moved quickly, past row after row of chemical compound. Each with seemingly smaller print than the last. There were four rows of chemical cabinets, Joe picked his way through them at random. He was too terrified to move with a purpose. Providence won through again, he found the container he was looking for.

Joe reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved a special impact resistant case. He opened it and the cabinet, taking inventory as he grabbed the solutions.

There was "88005-MX77," the muscular booster. That would help his son to regenerate the muscle fiber lost after so long in a coma.

Next was "88947-OP24," Andrew's eyes would be good as new after this. Better than knew, perfect. Able to see in near total darkness.

"87556-UD61," would help the neurons regenerate in Andrew's comatose brain. In effect, reviving him. There would be the added side-effect of decreased reaction time; icing on the cake.

Last, but certainly not least, "8942-LQ99." Andrew's skeleton had been near pulverized by a mortar detonation. With proper setting, and infusion with this chemical, none of those injuries would ever be sustained by Andrew again. He would be whole again, resurrected.

Joe grabbed another vial, this one an immuno-booster. Designed to not only help the body recover from injury, but help new tissue accept grafts and other procedures. This one was imperative; without it, Andrew's body would reject the augmentations and die.

The last vial was a pH buffer to keep his blood oxygen level normal during the procedure. There were other chemical compounds needed, but the Jester had assured him that they were easy to come by.

Joe slipped the last vial into it's slot and closed the case. No sooner had he done this when the lights winked out, leaving the Admiral in pitch black.

"Damn." He muttered, his voice seemed to echo around the room.

Joseph Delving slipped the case into his pocket and steeled his resolve. He bent and retrieved the M6 side-arm concealed within his boot. He didn't need to see to know that the safety was off and the chamber loaded.

The Admiral, now fugitive, felt along the chamber display cases. His feet moving ever so slowly. No sound was made. Joe neared the exit and pressed himself against the door frame. His debate on whether or not to proceed through ended as it slid open. Joe backed away and dropped into a crouch.

The sterilization field cast an eerie blue glow, illuminating a only but a portion of the entire storage room. Joe raised the weapon, many years of training replaced a few years of faith.

Admiral Delving had the upper hand in this situation. One: he could tell by the shadows that there were two men entering the chamber. MPs no doubt. The one in front had his weapon drawn while the one behind had his hand on his hip; ready to pull the sidearm and fire should the need arise. Two: their eyes wouldn't be acclimated to the dark, they couldn't see Joe crouched only a few feet away.

The first man crossed the threshold and stopped a few steps into the room. The other MP stopped a few paces behind. The first started to sweep his weapon across the darkness, searched for a target.

Joe's lungs refused to draw in air as the Admiral raised the pistol. His arm was a solid beam of steel as he pulled the trigger. In the enclosed room, with no silencer, the boom of the pistol was deafening. The first MP's knee exploded out, dropping him like a sack of potatoes. His gun clattered across the floor.

Joe pounced on the other man and rapped the butt of the gun on his skull. The MP's body stiffened, then crumpled. Joe left the two Military Policemen, one cold cocked, the other clutching his knee and moaning in pain.

Admiral Delving burst from the storage room and into the entrance hall. At least, what he thought was the entrance hall. The power must have been cut because none of the over-head lights were running. Only small pinpoint emergency lights were active. Those barely did more than show the contours of the hall, ensuring you didn't run straight into a wall.

Joe followed the red lights as fast as he could, taking care to avoid the equipment that had been abandoned.

A familiar voice whispered in his ear. "The guards from the main gate are heading in as we speak. Turn right here and stay crouched."

Joe did as he was told and found himself wedged in a depression between the floor and the wall. He drew his knees up to his chest and panted. His heart was racing and his hands shook. Joe couldn't believe he had shot a fellow officer of the UNSC. What had he become?

The three MPs from earlier sprinted past seconds later. Had Joe not gotten out of the hall, they would have run straight into him. He counted off a full ten seconds before rising from his hiding place.

The Admiral continued down the hall, past the curve, along the smooth corridor. He approached the inner door to the facility. Slowly, clutching his pistol, he pushed the door open. One of the careless guards had left the door open and the setting sun illuminated the long entryway. Joe holstered the pistol and shut the door behind him. As quickly as he could, he exited the facility.

His fusion-car was where he left it, still humming with life. Joe got in, buckled the safety harness, and accelerated away. His heart was still pounding.

"That was pure enjoyment." The Jester said, bells tinkling all the while.

Hours later, through the din of Pelican engines. Joe and two med-techs stepped onto the roof of Daley Memorial Hospital. Doctor Choi and another blonde-haired woman waited by the roof door. Joe nodded to them as he approached.

"Nice to see you again, Choi." Joe shouted through the pounding Chicago rain.

Choi grunted an acknowledgement and waved to the woman at his side. "This is Doctor Maria Villanovan. She worked with me onboard the UNSC Hopeful." The woman bowed her head to the Admiral.

"We'll talk inside." Joe ushered the med-techs and the two doctors into the hospital elevator. Before stepping in, Joe signaled the pelican pilot to circle around and await his return. He wouldn't be long.

The short elevator ride was spent in silence. Joe's heart was in his throat as the elevator ground to a halt on the 15th floor of the massive hospital. The group walked through the silent halls and into a waiting operating room.

Joe waited until everyone was inside, then he made a quick sweep of the long hall behind him before entering. The Jesters ethereal form greeted him wait a wave of his scepter, and a bearing of his teeth.

"Here are the materials, Doctor Choi." Joe retrieved the slender case from his pocket and handed it to the Korean man. "This room has everything you will need for the procedure. The Jester here will be your AI support." Joe nodded to the figure. "You'll find him quite helpful. I've arranged for private transport via Pelican flier. They will take you where you need to go. The Jester will be handling compensation for this procedure. You have my thanks." Joe bowed his head.

Joe took a few steps towards his son's form. Andrew lay on the operating table, only a thin sheet covering his waist. His mouth was slightly open from the breathing tube that had been inserted. Osmotic IV patches covered his twisted arms and legs.

Joe's jaw tightened, he gritted his teeth. The Jester smirked.

The Admiral turned abruptly and began to walk from the room. He turned and took one last look at his super-processor. One whole corner of the room was dominated by the Jester's equipment.

"Gentlemen, Ma'am, I hope never to see any of you again." Joe stepped from the O.R. and briskly headed for the elevator.

The Jester's smile faded. "Let us finish this." The Jester logged the time: 21:55

No one spoke more than what was absolutely necessary. The Jester issued a few commands, but the doctors knew what they were doing and the Med-Techs soon figured it out.

It took close to two and a half hours to properly align Andrew's shattered skeleton. Another hour was spent making sure his bio-signs were stable. Choi set up the rotating IV-Pump, loading the chemicals with the kind of precision that came with years of practice.

Working methodically, down the left side of Andrew's body then up the right, the crew applied each of the drugs. The Jester monitored the bio-readouts like a hawk and if any of them so much as fluttered, he adjusted accordingly. By the time the procedure was done, three hours later, Andrew's body was accepting each chemical compound. His body absorbed the drugs like a sponge and the immuno-boosters went to work almost immediately.

The Jester was pleased with his work. This was a one in a million procedure and they had pulled it off.

"My congratulations, doctors. You have made history." The Jester tittered. "I can monitor from here on out. Your rides are waiting. Check your accounts in the morning for your reward."

The two doctors and two med-techs shuffled silently from the Operating room. The Jester dimmed the lights so that the only source of illumination was his ghostly form.

The AI stood completely still until he received confirmation that the pelicans had departed. His bells rang loudly.

Of course it had all been a lie. Some hours into their flights, the Pelicans would reroute to an isolated part of the ocean and dump the bodies. All traces of the whereabouts for the four humans would be wiped from the system. It would be as if they never left home.

_They shouldn't have_, the Jester angrily thought. He didn't like being used for this purpose. Infiltration was one thing, murder was another. A few long silent subroutines tried to activate but the Jester squashed those. He packaged them away and shipped them off to a far corner of his mind. One where they wouldn't bother him. The same place he kept his conscience.

The Jester glided forward on rapidly vanishing feet. He bent close and whispered into Andrew's ear.

"Live," He hissed. "For all those that have died for you."


	4. Chapter 3

-10426 HOURS,JANURARY 11, 2545 (MILITARY CALENDAR) \ SYSTEM ROUTED MESSAGE: ORIGIN UNTRACEABLE; TERMINATION: OFFICE BUILDING H23, CHICAGO, EARTH

///AUTOMATED REROUTE UNSC DESK-FILE OP89-22/// FILE ACCESS GRANTED/// WORM-PROTOCOL FIREWALL ENABLED/ TRACE WORM-PROTOCOL ENABLED/ FILE ERASED///

SECURE Email xx0223r-xx

Encryption Code: Epsilon

Public Key: N/A

From: CODE NAME BENEDICT

To: CODE NAME ENGLISH

Subject: PROGRESS REPORT/OPERATION LIVELIHOOD

CLASSIFICATION: EYES ONLY, CODE-WORD XXXX-XXXX-XXXX-XX TOP SECRET (SECTION THREE X-RAY DIRECTIVE)

/Decoding complete/

/Message start/

It is done.

All records of the dealings of Admiral Joseph Delving, service number 558291-0032, have been erased as per your command.

Subjects involved with procedure have been "sterilized."

No breeches were detected.

Admiral Delving may have suspected my involvement, but made no move to call me out.

Suggest liaison officer follow up with subject Andrew to access effectiveness of procedure. There are people who know better than I.

On a strictly personal note: Do not attempt to find me. You won't. The ONI will do without me. Find another AI, preferably one without scruples to do your dirty work.

/End Message/

/System Failure/


	5. Chapter 4

In the darkness, Andrew waited. His back was pressed against cold, unmoving steel and his breath came in short, ragged bursts. Andrews arms and legs burned and itched. He dared not scratch. There was a gun in his hand.

Something terrified him. Something that he couldn't see. Like the nightmares from his childhood, he could feel it growing close.

Andrew closed his eyes and tried to push his fears to the back of his mind. He cursed himself for feeling this way. Long ago he had sworn to himself that, never again would he be afraid.

Concentrating, Andrew tried desperately to remember where he was. He knew he was pressed against something. The gun in his hand told him he was in a battle. Beyond that, he was at a loss.

A light blinked in the distance.

There was a puff of smoke, then pain. Andrew's chest hurt. Why did his chest hurt?

Andrew's mind frantically searched for an explanation. Both for his fears and for his pain. When none was forthcoming, he yelled. Or, at least, he thought he yelled. It was as if his voice evaporated before him.

A light blinked in the distance.

Something or someone was calling to him. In the distance, where the light was.

The nameless thing, his terror, was close now. Andrew felt as if he was being beckoned by the light. He needed no further persuasion. Gripping his unseen gun, Andrew ran at top speed. Away from the nightmare, away from his fear.

The light was so distant. Every time it shone, the darkness hurried to swallow it up. He was driven to meet it. He had to escape, if for no other reason than because he swore.

Every step he took was excruciating. His legs and arms burned more and more. It felt as if every nerve pinched. His head swam and if it wasn't for the darkness, he was sure his vision was blurred.

The light blinked again and Andrew fought to maintain focus on its radiance. He was no closer now than when he started. But he was resolved.

Andrew forced his legs to keep pumping. He was so tired. It felt as if he had been running for years. On and on he went. Like a perpetual motion machine.

His legs could go no further. Andrew collapsed onto all fours. As he breathed, he was suddenly aware that he could finally see. On his hands and knees, the light suffused around him. He had made it. After so long, he was finally here. The light was warm, comforting. It cradled him and bolstered his strength, what little of it there was.

Andrew chanced a glance around and saw that he was on turf, the sort of blue-green grass of Jericho VII. As he searched the edges of the light he realized the couldn't see beyond it. A sad thought crossed his mind: things this beautiful and comforting do not defeat darkness.

"Up." A voice commanded.

"I can't." Andrew sighed between ragged breaths. "I can't go any longer."

"Yes you can," another voice chided him. Andrew thought he recognized them both.

A pair of hands gripped his sides and hauled him up. With their help, he rose. Andrew looked into the faces of his comrades.

Lieutenant Morrison shook his head and turned away from him. "You shouldn't be here." His voice pierced the eerie silence. The air was so still, almost cloying.

Andrea hefted her sniper rifle and moved to Andrews side. "You have to go back."

Andrew looked at both of them, but they failed to return his gaze. "I don't understand." His voice diffused as if he hadn't spoken at all.

"Of course you do." Morrison moved to the side of the drop-pods that had been strung together as a makeshift shield wall. "You have to go back. You don't belong here, you never did." Morrison looked Andrew square in the face. "So go back." He racked the bolt on his BR-55 and chambered a round.

Andrew turned and looked at where he had just come from. Or, rather, he looked at the darkness from whence he had emerged. "I won't, never."

"If you go, we'll cover you." Andrea whispered softly.

Morrison nodded, solemnly.

"Besides, they're waiting for you." Andrea turned and raised her sniper rifer. She sighted down-range, past the shield wall.

"Who is?" Andrew shifted his gun, a MA5B, nervously.

"Who else?" Morrison stepped around the side of the pods and disappeared into the darkness.

Andrew could hear again. The crack of rifle fire, the screams, the deafening roars. There was also the buzz of energy weapons, the sounds of monsters in the dark. The sounds of his nightmares.

Andrew could hear each and every scream. He couldn't see them, whoever they were. He felt for them. They were his brothers, his people. They were dying. Those monsters were killing them.

He had to go back. Andrew tightened his grip on his rifle. He understood what he had to do. He was a soldier, like it or not. More importantly, he was a human. Extinction was an ugly concept.

Duty, he was no stranger to the concept. Damn his father for that.

Andrew leapt to the top of the pods, Andrea close behind.

"We'll cover you." She whispered again. Her deadly gaze was fixated somewhere in the darkness; on one of the nameless fears that dwelled there.

Andrew couldn't see them, the Covenant, but he knew they were there. Fear had a name, nightmare had a substance.

_My race, _he thought, _I will save my race somehow._

Andrew shouldered his weapon, took a deep breath, then ran off the edge of the pod.

His roar announced he was coming, his gun lit the way.

* * *

Andrew's eyes opened. 


	6. Chapter 5

-1UNKNOWN TIME, FEBRUARY 12, 2545(MILITARY CALENDER)\ SOL SYSTEM, UNKNOWN HOSPITAL, PLANET EARTH.

Andrew stared at the ceiling fan that rotated lazily above his bed. The light breeze it stirred up felt good on the parts of his skin that weren't covered by bandages. It also served to take his mind off the parts of him that itched furiously.

Corporal Andrew Delving had been awake for several days. At least it felt like several days. In that time the only person he had seen was the nurse that brought his meals. And that was peculiar.

Even more so was her tight-lipped manner. On more than one occasion he had tried to ply information as to his whereabouts. Each time she had refused to say anything. Andrew had let it slip the first few times, now it was just getting down-right spooky.

Shouldn't there have been at least one visit by a doctor? He wondered.

A lot of things didn't add up. If this were a hospital, why was there no call button. He had an Osmotic IV patch on both of his arms and stark white walls to keep him company.

At first, he had wondered if he was on a starship. That might explain the simplicity of this room. That notion was quickly dismissed however. There were none of the usual gravity shifts that UNSC vessels made.

This meant he was groundside. Jericho VII could have been a possibility. Although the major city center had been hit hard long before his company had been deployed. Had they ferried him from the system? Perhaps. He must have been on Reach, he concluded. That was the only explanation, wasn't it?

Andrew furrowed his brow. His head was throbbing. It had been ever since he had awoken. His chest too, it felt like he had a burn underneath the tight bandages.

There were so many questions that needed answering. He couldn't remember what had happened just before arriving here. He remembered suiting up with his squad and waiting for the deployment orders to come down. Then, nothing. It must have been a good battle; only that could account for the amount of bandages on his body.

Temporary memory loss wasn't a new thing to him. His first drop, to fight against the Hydra System Pirates, was a blur until weeks later. Whatever had happened he would remember, he always did.

Andrew shifted uncomfortably under the sheets of the hospital bed. His legs burned with inactivity; he needed to get up. With great effort, Andrew tried to rise. The muscles in his stomach tightened and a wave of nausea washed over him. The edges of his vision clouded. As he sunk back into the feculent hospital bed he could feel vertebrae popping and groaning in protestation. That was new.

As he waited for the room to steady itself, he took a quick inventory of what he was sure of. One: however it had happened, he was now injured; from the looks of things quite bad. Two: he was in a groundside hospital, since none existed on Jericho VII anymore he could only assume he had been ferried to the closest UNSC port of call. Three: if he was in a UNSC, or any other kind of hospital for that matter, there should have been doctors. Why the hell weren't they here?

And that was it. Those three were the only things he was absolutely sure of. "Well," he croaked. His throat was so parched. "Time to remedy that."

Andrew gripped the sides of the bed and hauled himself up. This time it was his elbows that popped. They sent a fresh wave of nauseating pain through him. Andrew closed his eyes and clenched his teeth. He struggled to keep himself upright.

After the nausea passed it took a couple of blinks for Andrew to focus on the room. Nothing had changed, same stark white walls, same lack of character. That was one battle won.

Andrew swung his feet over the edge of the bed and waited for the room to steady itself. He examined his legs, bandages covered almost the entirety of his right side. On his left he spied the tail end of a scar poking out from the bandages.

_Great add another to the list._ He hated the scars he had. Each one was a reminder that he was a killer.

As he ran a hand over his stubbly head he frowned. Damn doctors, shaving his head without his consent. Luckily, apart from the wound his pride was dealt, nothing was wrong with his head. Not even a scratch.

Andrew readied himself. With a push, he slid from the bed to the chilly tile floor. His feet his and his knees threatened to buckle under his body wait. He stood awkwardly. The room swirled for only a moment this time.

Andrew's legs were still a little shaky, but they held as he straightened up. It was the oddest feeling, weakness, but at the same time a brooding power. That meant he still had some semblance of his former strength; he couldn't have been out for too long.

_Time to find a doctor._ He turned towards the door.

As if on cue, the door opened and a shocked looking doctor entered. He stood in the door-way looking Andrew over for sever seconds before he spoke.

"You-," he stuttered, "you shouldn't be up."

Andrew raised an eyebrow.

"Standing! You're standing." The doctor looked at the flat panel he carried. "That's nothing short of a miracle."

As he started towards the bewildered Andrew, a big hand clamped down on the doctor's shoulder. A booming voice caused Andrew to cringe.

"Doctor, if you would please." Joseph Delving commanded as he loped into the room. "Give me some time with my son." Joe's powerful grip herded the protesting doctor out of the room. Joe snatched the pad away from the doctor and shut the door. Finally, the day Joe had waited for.

"Dad?" Andrew tried to stand up straighter but found, as he tried to take his hand away from the bed to salute, he couldn't let go; his legs were shaking again.

Joe crossed the room to his frail son and threw his arms around him. The Admiral's eyes began to mist over and a shuddering sigh escaped his lips.

Andrew was speechless. Never, ever in his life had his father showed his emotions like this. Even when they watched the screens from Harvest, the place they lost the one person that bridged the gap between them. Even then, his father hadn't shed one tear.

Andrew's gut knotted and suddenly he felt uncomfortable. What could make his father, an emotionally reserved man, forget himself like this. The Delving son pulled away from his father.

"Dad, what happened to me?"

Joe moved his son to the bed and had him sit. The Admiral shucked his civilian jacket and sat at the end of the bed. He looked his son over. He was skinny, his skin was pale and worried around the wrapping that covered most of him. His longer than regulation black hair, a constant point of contention among them, was gone. But Andrew was still his son. It was all Joe could do to keep back the tears. He was back, his son lived again.

"Dad," Andrew's voice snapped Joe out of his reverie. "What happened?"

"Son." Joe's heart hardened. Andrew deserved to know. All of this time to think, to come up with the way to say this. Here he sat, speechless. Had there been an easy way to break this to his son? Joe had prepared for every eventuality other than this. Secretly he wished for it, hoped even. But never did he suspect that Andrew would live.

"There is no easy way to say this." Joe swallowed hard.

"Then just say it." Andrew didn't like suspense. That was the whole reason he joined up with the Orbital Drop Shock Troopers. First in, sometimes never out. "Tell me."

Joe looked into his son's eyes and spoke. He felt disembodied. As if this were all a dream. "The Jericho VII campaign ended in defeat on February twelfth, twenty-five-thirty-five. It is now February twelfth, twenty-five-forty-five. Exactly ten years ago today, you were pronounced dead."

It took a full thirty seconds for what his father had said to register in his mind. That explained why he hadn't seen a doctor in all this time. They were avoiding him.

"That can't be." Andrew croaked out, even though realization was just slipping in. That explained the extent of his injuries.

As if he read his son's mind, Joe continued.

"You took a direct hit from a Covenant Sniper. A weapon we now know as a particle-beam rifle." He said flatly. "It burned through your chest-plate and bored into your sternum. What happed next you missed because you were unconscious. A mortar round detonated close to your proximity. The overpressure wave shattered the bones in both your arms and legs. Parts of your spine were pulverized. It is nothing short of a miracle your body kept your brain alive long enough to be salvaged. Let alone the fact that you're awake today."

Andrew's eyes left his fathers. He found a spot on the wall and didn't divert from it. He couldn't. Doing so would mean facing a reality he didn't want to recognize. Dead for ten years. Ten!

"How did I survive?" He asked idly.

Joe glanced warily around the room and then he abruptly got up. He went to the door and opened it. The Admiral stuck his head out and made sure the hall was clear of eavesdroppers. Satisfied, he closed the thin door and snapped the lock shut.

Joe turned to his son, a wry smile spread across his face. "Tell me, son, what have you heard about the Spartan Project."

Andrew furrowed his brow. "They are a myth. Something about section three genetic freaks. Super-soldiers or something, what does this have to do with me?"

"They are not freaks." Joe corrected his son. "They are the pinnacle of genetic augmentation. The research that went into the project alone took decades. They are something special."

Andrew's gut knotted again and his legs itched.

Joe reached out and gripped his son's shoulder. The contact hurt his bruised skin but Andrew didn't raise any complaints.

"Andy, your body was broken. I feared you would never awaken. And even if you did, there was the strong chance you would never be able to leave the Neural Buoyancy Gel-Tank. When I saw you there, floating, your arms and legs mangled. Those furious red scars. I couldn't abandon you. I knew your only chance was physical augmentation." Joe's grip tightened. "It worked. You're here."

"You turned me into one of them?!" Andrew threw off his fathers arms. His shoulder popped hard and Andrew's vision blurred. His heart sank. He was an abomination. Like them, a freak. The itching and burning drove to a fever pitch. Andrew fought back the darkness encroaching on the edges of his vision.

"How could you?" He asked his father. "I should have died." Andrew looked at his hands, realizing suddenly that they were very gaunt.

"I should have died." He whispered one last time before passing out.

Joe didn't understand. He couldn't. The last five years had been spent working to make this reunion happen. He had poured his soul, single handedly ruined his career, and for what?

Joe stood over his son for a long while, tears welling in his eyes.

* * *

Andrew awoke some hours later with a start. He sat bolt upright in his bed and was amazed to see he was in a windowed room. A cool breeze wafted in and Andrew could hear the sounds of the city. As he gazed at the skyline, he realized that he was in the place of his birth: Chicago. Fitting he would return now.

He had a new IV patch and his bandages felt new. In the pale half-light Andrew could see that the room was, thankfully, different from the last. The walls seemed to have a textured paint on them. A Public Access Terminal sat in the corner. Its service light blinked, but the screen was dark. There was a chair in the other corner, by the window.

Beside his much-more-comfortable bed was a table. Upon it was a data-chip. Andrew instantly recognized it as a mission log chip. He picked it up and examined the inscription. It read: 30887-12245-AD. It was his.

Later, as Andrew looked back on this night, he would realize that he read the inscription using only the ambient light of the city. A feat for which he had his augmented eyes to thank.

Curiosity got the better of him. Andrew stood, this time much more steadily, and crossed to the PAT. He plugged the chip into the universal reader and waited for the screen to flicker to life. He tapped through the interface screens and selected the time parameters of his last mission: The Battle of Jericho VII.

Andrew watched in rapt silence. He saw his pod hit hard, watched as he almost took a plasma bolt to the face. He saw his rendezvous with Andrea, Morrison, and Christophe. His triumph over the banshee fliers. Then the flash of light, the thunderclap, the puff of smoke. Andrew watched his death in rapt silence.

He rubbed his aching chest as the screen flickered off. The final message from Corporal Andrew Delving was: RECORDING INTERRUPTION\CAUSE: UNKNOWN\PLAYBACK TERMINATED.

Andrew sat on the edge of his bed for a long while. The breeze from Lake Michigan felt utterly cold on his back. He didn't want to be here. But he was, and that couldn't be helped.

He stood, something held him up despite the shaking in his legs. Andrew closed his eyes. Something inside of him changed. Call it understanding, resolve, whatever; Andrew knew what he would do.

The young man lowered himself to the floor. His hips popped and his legs ached, but he didn't care. Andrew lay flat on his stomach. He reached up and placed his hands, palms down, at shoulder height. He curled his toes in and planted the balls of his feet on the floor behind him.

Andrew raised himself off the floor until his elbows locked. It hurt, but he did it. He breathed deep and lowered himself until just the tip of his chest touched the thin carpet. He exhaled as he pushed up, all the way back up.

It hurt, it was excruciatingly painful to his elbows and the muscles along his back and chest. He did it none the less. If his father wanted him to be a freak, fine. He would be a freak. They would fear him. Andrew would be their nameless fear, their demon in the dark of their dreams.

* * *

Later, a nurse pushed open the door to Andrew's suite. It was early morning, time to change his IV and serve breakfast. She nearly dropped the tray when she saw he wasn't in his bed.

The momentary panic evaporated when she looked to the floor. Andrew pushed up again and again. His back glistened with sweat. The carpet was dark from where it had dripped from his body; his bandages were soaked through.

Andrew pushed up one final time. He brought his knees up under him and stood awkwardly. His arms felt four meters long and his head throbbed.

"I was wondering when you would get here." He told the nurse as he plucked a croissant from the tray. "I was getting damned hungry.


End file.
